


A Bike Garage Divided Against Itself

by ZombyEmblem



Category: Dangan Ronpa, Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Despair, Dangan Ronpa Spoilers, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Sickness Described, swears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 07:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3802600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZombyEmblem/pseuds/ZombyEmblem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>==REPOSTED FOLLOWING ebooks-tree SCARE==</p><p>Mondo’s vow to stop breaking things and start building them runs him into conflict almost immediately, like a clever police blockade. He sticks to it, but not everything escapes the confrontation unscathed.</p><p>(Day 1 of SHSL Rarepair Week! Prompt: The Magician Arcana.)<br/>(The Magician symbolizes newfound energy, and a determination to make changes happen.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bike Garage Divided Against Itself

_“You piece of shit.”_

_“Look—”_

_“No, you look. You take a fucking look around you! Fucking look at everyone! Your brother built this fucking gang from the ground up, with his own fucking hands! He made us! He made you!”_

_“I know!”_

_“You know?! You—of course you know! He gave you fucking everything! And now you’re just gonna drop it on the goddamn ground and stomp it? You’re gonna ruin everything he wanted? Why the fuck would you even tell me?!”_

_“… I had to.”_

_“No, you fucking didn’t! You didn’t! You—give me one good goddamn reason why you had to!”_

_“You want me to just keep it to myself?”_

_“No, I want—look, fuck this! Fuck you! I don’t wanna see you around here again, you worthless sack of shit! Get out of my sight!”_

* * *

 

It was careful work, measuring your arm strength. Knowing how hard to hit something is an acquired skill, obviously—very obviously, as the pile of broken planks testified—but trying to efficiently pound nails while still being quiet enough to hear the radio uninterrupted was still a little difficult.

It wasn’t the most difficult thing Mondo Oowada had needed to do recently. But putting that out of his mind was part of the reason why he was working like this.

He shifted over and into a sitting-ish kind of position, frustrated at how this damn shack had him half-splayed on the ground like an idiot. Sitting in a weird, lopsided squat like that did not feel empowering in the slightest, and was absolutely wrong for the leader of the Crazy Diamonds, especially on the property of their own clubhouse. Mondo honestly wasn’t sure whether the “leader” part made any difference anymore. Who knows where he stood with them now. Not like he cared.

That’s what he wanted to think, leaning awkwardly on the ground on his own, spouting obscenities as he ruined yet another piece of wood. _Not like he cared._

The truth was that he wanted to go back. He wanted so badly to go back to how it was only days ago, before anyone else in the gang knew about Daiya’s death. The Crazy Diamonds were as good as gone now, though—now that he’d told them, he was the one who broke up the gang. His fault. A wave of hollowness in his feet forced him to change position again.

Mondo paused to wipe all the sweat off his forehead. Unexpectedly enough, his pompadour was doing a _really_ good job of keeping the sun out of his eyes. Everybody who made fun of him for this thing could fuck right off. Trying to keep that “fight me” mood going was hard, even with his favorite Western rock blaring out of the tiny box he inherited from his brother.

With a quick jolt and a shake of the head, he reminded himself not to think of his decision as a fault. He told them the truth on purpose. He had to. Anxiety burgeoned threateningly at the bottom of his throat as he railed it through his head over and over—“ _I had to, I had to, I had to…”_ The panic subsided gradually, but it stayed put. Mondo could only suppress it so much. It was stuck there, as far back as could be pushed, still poisoning the good vibe he wanted to create, even though he fought with all his might to dispel it. The gang would have fallen apart because of that secret eventually! It was doomed! He just got it over with, right? The whole thing was just a fragile mess! Not like the others did much better than him at keeping their shit together.

They were always out breaking things, but did any of them realize how close they had always been to falling to pieces on their own?

And here he was, building a fuckin’ tool shed. He’d only just started learning to put things together, but apparently doing repairs wasn’t the same thing.

It was very sudden, the blossom of chill that spread out through his body. Felt like it, anyway; he hadn’t noticed any cold before now. It was a pretty warm day right now, and he should have been fine, but still, there was the spitefully debilitating numbness threatening to tear the hammer out of his sweaty grip and return it to the smug embrace of gravity. Mondo’s arm wavered in the midday light, thankfully less steady than the actual structure he was putting together. Maybe it was time for a break.

He couldn’t help but shudder a few times, shaking his head violently. Still had work to do.

* * *

 

“Hello?”

Wow, hey, fear. Where’d you come from? Because go the fuck back.

Mondo was not prepared for anyone to show up right now. His stomach roiled at the thought of having to explain his presence; after all, he didn’t even know for himself why he needed to be here. An ugly tempest kicked up in his gut. The possibility of finally being told to leave for good was now very real, and he wasn’t ready for it. He considered getting up and trying put on a tough face, but the nausea made that a non-option. Resigned, he turned back to his work, although he wasn’t paying a damn bit of attention to it. _Please, just go away. Leave me here…_

“Oowada-kun?... Are you there? Hello? I know that’s your music!”

Damn the Rolling Stones, ratting him out like— Wait, shit. That didn’t sound like anyone he expected to hear.

… Why the hell did Makoto Naegi show up?

“Oowaaaadaaaaa-kuuun?”

Naegi drew out the call this time, clearly trying to locate him. Mondo sighed. Kid must’ve been looking around for him. With more effort than he should’ve needed, Mondo turned his head to the fence separating the property from the sidewalk. “Over here,” he choked, unfortunately. His voice was weak from stress and disuse—no yelling in an entire day was an unwelcome change. He coughed a few times, turned down the music, and repeated with more strength, “Over here, kid.”

He heard the sound of furious bike pedaling in response, chain rattling and all, before Makoto Naegi’s disheveled form hustled into view on the path leading to the house itself. Following the noise, Naegi turned his head off to the right and visibly relaxed, a relieved smile popping instantaneously to his little face. He dismounted his bike right there on the stone path and began to run over—when interrupted by _boom, crash_ , the sound of his bike falling, he whipped back around, took half a step toward it and back, making noncommittal half-gestures with his forearms up, and then decided better of it and left the bike on the ground—and almost immediately, Mondo began to feel a little more secure. His stomach calmed itself.

“Oowada-kun!” Naegi gasped, winded from the Olympic-level dash he’d just finished. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Did something happen? Shouldn’t you be out… uh, riding? Or something?” He bent over to catch his breath for real, hands on his knees (which, as Mondo noted, were covered in grass stains).

“Where’ve you been? You get in a fight with a flower patch or somethin’?” Mondo wondered out loud. (He figured his friend would probably lose that fight, but at least he had the sense not to vocalize that part.)

“Huh? Oh, well, see,” Naegi began, straightening up, “you weren’t at school, which wasn’t _that_ unusual, really, but Ishimaru-kun was really nervous because he couldn’t get in touch with you, and so Fujisaki-san started worrying too, but she seemed way more tense and she wouldn’t tell us why? Usually you tell those two what’s going on, so I figured something serious happened, and I had to track down Kirigiri-san after class to figure out where I could find you, but she gave me a list of places and so I had to check them all.” Naegi glanced sheepishly at his now verdant knees and turned his palms up. “Which involved some climbing. I fell off of at least one fence, I think.”

Mondo took a moment to run this through his head. Bro and the little one were worried about him. “Shit,” he growled, rubbing the back of his neck and wandering away towards the pile of wood he had yet to use. He registered Naegi padding along with him, but his mind was more on the quiet, smoldering shame of having let down his friends. The ones who actually wouldn’t ditch his sorry ass when he fucked up, and he left them out in the cold. Mondo slumped down to the ground, legs uncooperative.

Naegi shifted his feet a little. “So, what are you doing here by yourself?”

“Building a shack. The fuck does it look like?”

“Ah,” Naegi murmured. Mondo cursed himself— _way to fuckin’ harsh the guy, man_ —and stared a piercing stare right into the dirt in front of him, suddenly aware that his carpentry might be a lot less attractive than he’d thought. He should’ve gotten rid of the destroyed wood pieces, but he hadn’t wanted to stop working, so it sat on the edge of his workspace, a literal pile of abject failure reminding him a little too harshly of his other ones.

“I guess what I’m asking is, why are you building a shack?” Naegi’s voice darkened earnestly, probing for an answer he wasn’t going to let slip away. A harsh roll of instability tightened in Mondo’s stomach. Even if Naegi wasn’t a Crazy Diamond, even if he wasn’t someone who was constantly expecting him to be strong-willed, the idea of admitting to failure in front of him… ugh. “Oowada-kun?”

“I heard ya. I, uh…” Oowada did his best internal version of _punching his weak-ass stomach in its fucking face_ and forced himself to answer. “I told ‘em.” He heard Naegi breathe in, as if he went to respond but hesitated. “About Daiya,” he added, moving before the sick feeling could return. He got a sharp intake of breath in response.

Naegi had already learned about that little secret weeks ago, when a disturbance broke out in the pool entranceway. He was nearby and recognized the voices, and was in time to find a blood-rushed, incensed Mondo screaming at a sobbing Fujisaki. When Ishimaru had found them and managed to settle everyone, they’d had to explain what set the whole mess off. So the hall monitor and the lottery winner learned all about the death of Daiya Oowada. It was not a proud night, but the four of them found a kind of silent bond from it—perhaps more so for the disputing parties. Neither Mondo nor Fujisaki would relinquish the reason why Daiya had come up as a subject at all. That was one secret they kept—petty as it sounded, Mondo was proud for managing to hold down that truth, at least.

Mondo surprised himself by finding the strength to get to his feet. He looked quietly over his collar at Naegi, whose face was melting into a collage of discomfort and sadness. In that face there was a will without a way. “Guess I’m not a Super High School Level Biker Gang Leader anymore, huh?”

Naegi diverted his vision quickly in reaction, gazing at the clubhouse instead. Modno glanced to follow him for a second. It was a backyard clubhouse, really. Calling it just a “clubhouse” seemed to imply it was one of the huge resort buildings owned by golf clubs and the like, but it wasn’t that special. Maybe two rooms, one seriously sparse bathroom. It was home, though. Was.

After a pause, Naegi blurted out, “Why did you tell them?”

Mondo dropped his gaze again. “Had to.”

“You could have kept up the lie longer, though.”

“I’m so tired of that, though.” Mondo shook his head forcefully, clearing his brain out to make room for the new influx of anger. The breeze returned, urging him on. “That wouldn’t fuckin’ help anyone. I knew this whole time it’d have to come out, yeah? But I never said anything, and we just kept goin’. Then what? We act like we’re all tight, and we’re real brothers or some shit, but meanwhile I’m betrayin’ everyone’s trust!” Mondo kicked at the dirt impulsively, a childish action he regretted immediately. “I just… didn’t wanna make it worse, y’know?”

Save for the rustling of the trees, it was silent again. The sun was beginning to set now, although the shade of the trees and ivy-strained fence blocked out the unneeded light. It was pleasant in the shade, but there was no distraction there. Nothing stopping him from reliving his mistake, his _weakness_ in living color. Recently liberated leaves found their way into his hair.

There was a shuffle of grass as Naegi moved audibly closer. “You know,” he began slowly, feeling out the path of his thoughts, “I think I’ve got it.”

Mondo whipped his head to turn toward the smaller boy, who turned out to be maybe a half-meter away. The leaves were summarily evicted from their meticulously styled nest. “What? Don’t tell me you’re gonna start with that analytical shit.”

“No, hear me out,” Naegi chittered, putting up his hands defensively. “Remember when you invited me to your room, and you told me how you wanted to be a carpenter?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Yeah—yeah.” Mondo dropped into a mutter as soon as he actually remembered how Naegi had actually _been in his room_. In hindsight, that was really fuckin’ embarrassing. Shit.

Naegi went on, in spite of his friend’s bashfulness. “Well, you said you wanted to stop breaking things and start building new stuff. Maybe that’s what you’re doing right now. You got tired of slowly letting the gang break down, so you just… broke it yourself.” Seeing this was not solid logic, he jostled his head and blinked quickly before clarifying, “I-I mean, the way things were before, this was the only way to stop the gang from falling apart. So, you broke it off yourself so it could be repaired.”

Mondo furrowed his brow at the fledgling structure of wood to his right. This was exactly the analytical shit he just said to not start with, but it was coming together in his head. He brought up his face gradually until he was looking toward the shack at eye level. “So, you’re sayin’ I broke off the gang so I could fix it after?” He laid a hand on one of the posts, contemplatively. “And maybe… I’m done with breakin’ shit? That was the last time?...” He was more talking to himself at this point. The breeze felt more like a natural backdrop now than a simple factor of the weather.

Naegi clapped his hands together. “And that’s why you’re building a shed!”

Huh.

Mondo patted the wooden beam he had been watching and stepped away to turn back toward his friend who was _suddenly right there_. A smile had been skating its way to his lips, but as Naegi’s arms coiled around him, it was replaced by a very confused blush. Being hugged like this was decidedly unhealthy for the badass image Mondo would’ve liked to preserve, yet the gesture liberated him. He could feel his stomach settling down, the ruptures of turbulence now filled in with a lush gust of warmth. The biker’s arms moved of their own accord to settle across the back of Naegi’s shoulders.

He felt a reverb on his chest, unexpected but stabilizing. “You’re better than you think you are, Oowada-kun. I mean that. Please don’t tell yourself you can’t change things, because you’re doing it already.”

Mondo reached up to pull a leaf out of Naegi’s cowlick. “…Yeah,” he breathed. “Thanks, Naegi-kun.”

“Okay, what the fuck.”

With a loud internal _oh shIT_ , Mondo broke off from his friend’s embrace. Takemichi Yukimaru stood on the path to the clubhouse with a bag slung over his shoulder. His eyes already had a judging look to them. Mondo struggled to force out some vocalization for a few seconds, before he was cut off.

“Alright, look. I just got done trying to convince myself that you weren’t a total waste of shit and maybe I oughta forgive you, okay? Don’t throw me off with this. I did not need to see you getting all touchy-feely on the club grounds. You know that was against the rules, man!” Yukimaru was always difficult to read, but he seemed to be making an effort to be cryptic. Was he actually still angry? Did he want to fight?

Mondo returned to his losing battle to organize a counter-attack. “I’m—he’s not—we—”

“You sure?” Yukimaru shot back. “You never touched me that way.” The messy-haired punk giggled a bit to himself, cutting off any response. “Yeah, okay. I’m goin’ inside. You ain’t allowed back in yet, just so you know. But you can stay here with uh—” he lazily waved a hand at the base of the shack— “whatever that’s gonna be.”

And with that, he strode off towards the clubhouse’s front door, taking a comically wide step over Naegi’s overturned and somewhat abandoned bike. Mondo watched him leave, just to convince himself that that just happened. His mind had frozen over into a weird, sweaty jumble through the whole encounter, and he wasn’t fully sure it had happened at all.

He felt Naegi’s dirt-stained hand slip into his own, their fingers interlacing. A new, but not unwelcome experience. He’d been finding a lot of those recently.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Gah, I'm still really proud of this one.  
> I also totally forgot what was in the end notes bef-- oh, right! I was gushing about Naemondo. It's a really great ship. Please everybody make more of it. In general.


End file.
